Towards the Within Read online

  Ruben introduced himself to us and we gestured for him to take a seat. We learnt he was Italian, living in Lisbon and had been working as an investigative journalist in Delhi for the last two months. He spoke about recent bombings across the capital in the run up to elections, ‘Thirteen people were killed in a blast in Lajpat Nagar Central Market only a few days ago. This area, including New Delhi Railway Station, has also been threatened.’ I thought about the rubble where a building once stood near our hotel. ‘Anyway, enough of all of this, how are you finding Delhi?’ he said, quickly changing the subject.

  Aiden wiped a white ring of lassi from his lips, ‘Interesting to say the least.’

  ‘It’s a bit hectic, huh? This is my eighth visit to India and Delhi still baffles me. I’m travelling north to Manali in a few days to escape to the mountains. Delhi is great, but it can swallow you up all too soon if you’re not careful.’

  Late afternoon seeped into early evening as we talked at length about what brought us here and listened to Ruben’s adventures in India. Any insecurity we might have experienced earlier had now dissolved.

  ‘We should think about getting back to our hotel,’ said Aiden, to which I nodded in agreement. As I stood up I looked directly ahead of me. With all the earlier commotion, and being fully engaged in conversation for the last couple of hours I hadn't noticed. Ruben and Aiden were sat next to each other below the sign that now read “BEFRIEND STRANGERS”.

  With an air of confidence lent by our new friend we walked back to our hotel. By the rubble, the man was packing away his stall for the day as the little girl found curiosity in a small cardboard box. She held it above her head and shook it free of invisible contents, giggling at the prospect of her new hat.

  2

  Below me the street was wide awake; the cobbler repaired a bamboo cane that was supporting the tarpaulin over his pitch, while one of the food sellers scoured a black pan, readying it for future customers. The hole that I’d seen created yesterday was now home to a telegraph pole, fixed firmly in place with cement. A man dangled precariously from the top, supported by a slither of leather around his waist. He was trying to connect wires through a loop and was seemingly unfazed by the fizzles, bangs and flashes that occurred as he poked and prodded with a pair of pliers.

  A lady stooped over the pile of garbage, picking for discarded plastic bottles which she placed in a large canvas sack over her shoulder. Over to the right, the man on the stall was preparing dark leathery leaves with a white paste. Small silver foil sachets decorated the frame and the word Paan was painted on a sign that hung to an angle one side of the cart. The little girl was nowhere to be seen. To the left, a woman poured water from a copper vessel onto her infants, washing the soap from their glistening skin as they laughed and screamed with excitement. The river of people and traffic continued to flow, but the familiarity made everything less imposing.

  I slipped past Aiden’s sleeping bundle and went downstairs to order some breakfast. The manager was glued to the TV reporting of continuing violence in the region of Jammu and Kashmir. The footage showed huddled police firing tear gas from a street corner at a group of angry protesters.

  ‘Very bad, not good at all,’ he mumbled to himself. He addressed me as I came into view, ‘Ah, good morning sir, how can I help?’

  ‘Two plates of jam on toast and two teas please.’

  He scribbled the order on a pad, ‘Will that be all, sir?’

  ‘What’s the word for water?’

  ‘Pani, sir.’

  ‘And two bottles of pani please.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Your Hindi skills are quite remarkable.’

  Aiden woke to the waiter clinking cups and plates onto the glass table. Slumped into a chair with a slice of toast in hand, he said, ‘I really fancy a joint, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m not that bothered to be honest, I’m high enough on all the diesel fumes.’

  He inspected a mark on his cup, scratching it away with his thumbnail, ‘But wouldn’t it be cool to have a couple of spliffs? It must be amazing to hear those sounds outside when you’re a bit stoned.’

  ‘I’d rather keep my wits about me,’ I crunched the last of my toast, washing it down with a large mouthful of tea.

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ He sighed and stared at the floor, ‘I’ve been drinking and smoking pretty much non-stop for the last year now. Life can seem a bit shit without it.’

  I hoped to distract him from his thoughts, ‘I forgot to ask, what did your girlfriend say when you told her you were going to India?’

  He laughed, ‘I said that I was on a secret mission for Her Majesty’s Government and if I didn't get captured or killed, I’ll be back in her arms in three months.’

  I tried to imagine the sincerity on his face as he told her, ‘So Mr Bond, your job at the pizza place was all a cover up? You’re pure evil, mate. Did she really fall for that?’

  He pointed to his freshly adopted expression of innocence, ‘Look at this face, what do you think?’

  We agreed to visit the tomb of the second Moghul Emperor, Humayun. A cycle-rickshaw rider rang his bell as we departed the hotel and we hopped in and hoped for the best. He stood heavy on the pedals, pushing off slowly, but soon gathered momentum. At the junction at the top of the street we veered alongside a silver bus chugging thick grey smoke from its exhaust. An old man leant from one of the windows and spat a large amount of red liquid down the side of the panelling.

  ‘That looks blood. Do you think he’s okay?’ I shouted over to the rickshaw driver.

  He looked over to where I pointed, ‘Paan, he is chewing paan – betel nut. You not have paan in your country?’

  ‘No, what is it?’

  ‘Paan like caffeine, very popular. Made in betel leaf, mix with areca nut paste. Chew, then spit. If brave, then swallow. Make you spit red.’

  ‘There’s a guy near our hotel who sells paan in small packets too.’

  ‘This paan masala, quick hit, also make breath smell fresh.’

  ‘Do you like paan?’

  ‘No Sir. It does no good, rot teeth, maybe give cancer.’

  The rickshaw rider said he’d wait for us while we had a look around the tomb. The main structure dominated the centre of a Charbagh, commanding our immediate attention. Rising palms threw lines of shadow across tall sandstone arcs inlaid with elaborate patterns. Minarets and small pavilions surrounded a white dome surmounted by a brass crescent finial pointing high in the clear blue sky. It was easy to forget we were still in Delhi as we explored the serene grounds, taking in each striking angle with every step as mynah birds squawked in the clusters of neem trees.

  A dozen or more wires now flowed from the top of the telegraph pole outside our hotel, leading to various points either side of the road. Where there were buildings there were wires. Tangled cables ran overhead or hung vertically across façades, creeping like vines.

  Neither of us had ever been anywhere like India before. A trip across the sea to Europe was the furthest we’d ventured. Now we realised just how out of our depth we were, having hardly prepared or researched before we arrived. With little idea of where to go or what to do next, it dawned on us how stupid we’d been. Over tea on the balcony we discussed our underestimations and turned to the guide book for advice, but it was filled with so much information, it only served to compound our confusion.

  ‘The Taj Mahal,’ I said. It was the first thing that always sprung to mind when I thought of India. ‘What if we go to Agra next and see the Taj Mahal?’ It was a way of getting us moving I thought.

  ‘I suppose,’ Aiden replied. He leant over the railing to glare down at the street. ‘The history and buildings are all right and stuff, but I’m more into the idea of twisting alleyways and spice filled bazaars; to get a taste of the culture and people.’ He glanced at me and then looked down again, ‘I didn’t think it would be like this, I mean, this difficult.’

  ‘We’re not used to it yet that’s all. It’s going to take
a little time for us to adjust and settle in.’ At that point I couldn’t see how, but offered assurance nonetheless. ‘I think there’s a travel agent on the way to the restaurant at the top of the street. We’ll ask about Agra and see how we go from there.’

  A sandwich board with the words Rajasthani Tours and a list of destinations stood outside the travel agency. I looked through the glass at posters of palaces, camels and red turbaned men that hung upon the walls. The door squeaked as I pushed it open, alerting the attention of the shopkeeper who rose from his desk, ‘Ah my friends come in, please take a seat. How can I help you?’

  ‘We’d like…’ I began.

  ‘You would like chai? No problems. Yes, come take a seat.’ He guided us around two chairs to the front of his desk, then opened the door and barked, ‘Chai,’ to someone outside and put three fingers up. He came back to his seat and pulled it towards the table, tucking his round belly behind. ‘Okay, you are wishing to go to? I have many good deal on today, very good price, just for you, as you are from where?’

  Aiden seemed twitchy, uncomfortable with the eagerness of our host, ‘The UK.’

  ‘Ah, you are very lucky. Today I have special offers for peoples from the UK only,’ he waggled and beamed.

  The door nudged open. A boy holding two glasses of tea and a third between his arms squeezed through. He put the drinks on the desk and shook his wrists, blowing them as he left.

  ‘Maybe an exciting tour of the Great Thar Desert and many of its exotic palaces, yes, that is what you need,’ the agent continued.

  Aiden leaned forward, ‘Agra, we want to go to Agra.’

  The shopkeeper leant back, ‘I am afraid this is not possible.’ He rested his arms behind his head, ‘Agra, you see, has been flooded. There is no access to the city at this time. But it is not a problem for you, you can go to Jaipur instead. Yes, very good luxury coach. You are seeing beautiful Pink City and Palace of Winds. You will like very much.’

  ‘Flooded? The whole city, even the Taj Mahal?’ I tried to envisage the scene.

  ‘Yes, very unfortunate, very dangerous indeed. There has been big cholera outbreak.’

  ‘Jaipur doesn’t sound so bad,’ Aiden said upon reflection.

  Rs750 lighter, we were booked on a coach leaving the next day at 8am. A nervous excitement filled me as we walked to the restaurant. Aiden felt the same. The pink city, home to the palace of winds; our journey was about to begin.

  Ruben sat in a shaded corner, nose deep in an Italian broadsheet. On his table was a camera with an impressive lens, a notepad and a cup of black coffee. Aiden peered over the newspaper, ‘Hello mate.’

  He folded it away, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and the top of his nose, ‘Guys, sit down. What have you been up to?’

  ‘We’ve had a mad day,’ Aiden animated. ‘We saw two really bad traffic accidents on the way to a street market. One guy died. Then we got into a tussle with a rickshaw driver and he dropped us in the middle of nowhere. I managed to get us through the streets to a market though.’ I kept silent, intrigued by the outcome. ‘We were buying a shirt from this Sikh guy and he started arguing with me over the price. He ended up throwing hot tea over me.’

  ‘Quite the eventful day then,’ Ruben smiled as he looked through his glasses at arm’s length, catching the light and removing a speck of dust before returning them to his face. I couldn’t be sure, but it struck me that Ruben wasn’t fooled.

  Unsure of what Aiden was doing, I changed the subject before he had chance to continue, ‘Are you still going to Manali?’

  ‘Yes, it’s getting far too hot in Delhi. I’m looking forward to chilling in the mountains and listening to the rivers again.’ Ruben checked his trouser pockets and sighed, ‘I’ve left my wallet in my room. Can you guys look after my things for ten minutes while I go back and get it?’

  Aiden stood, ‘I’ll come with you. I could do with some fresh air. Sam, wait here, we’ll be back in a minute.’ As soon as they left, the waiter brought the three coffees I’d ordered. I browsed the newspaper while sipping my drink. When I had finished with both, the guys hadn’t returned so I started inspecting Ruben’s camera and then drank the other two coffees. An hour had gone by and I didn’t know whether to be worried or if I should go looking for them. Convincing myself they would be back soon I ordered a lassi and a greasy samosa. When the waiter brought them to me I tried engaging in conversation but his English was limited to the contents of the menu, so I sat watching the comings and goings of the restaurant.

  By eight o’clock they returned. Ruben called over to the waiter and ordered more coffee. He apologised and thanked me for looking after his stuff. Aiden sat down with a thump, ‘On the way back from Ruben’s hotel, I thought I’d stop at ours for my cigarettes. The manager said that if we planned to check out tomorrow, we would need to do so at 6am. Our bus to Jaipur doesn’t leave until eight, so we would’ve been stuck with our luggage on the streets for two hours.’

  He drew on a cigarette, blowing smoke into the fan, ‘Ruben told the manager he was being unreasonable, but the manager said as we'd checked in at 6am originally, that was the time we would have to leave.’ I was about to suggest we could wait in the restaurant for a couple of hours and have breakfast, but Aiden was eager to continue, ‘Ruben suggested we take it up with the police, so we went to Paharganj police station and the guy in charge came back with us and gave the manager a right bollocking. We now check out at 11am.’ I pictured the poor manager reaching for a noose behind the counter as they left.

  ‘Some other great news,’ There was more? Aiden was on a roll, ‘We’re going to Manali with Ruben. I’ve booked us on the same coach. How cool is that?’

  ‘Aren't we going to Jaipur?’

  ‘I thought it would be better to travel with Ruben first. He said he’d be happy to show us around and sort out a hotel for us. We’re going to get a firmer hold on this trip if we start it with an experienced traveller.’

  It made sense. I looked to Ruben, ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  He waved away my question, ‘Of course not, it’s my pleasure.’

  It was half past eleven by the time Aiden and I got back. The reception area was frosty, no false smiles from the manager this evening. Heads down, we slipped up the stairs and vanished out of sight. The silence of the street was dispelled by the occasional dog bark and distant vehicle. We leant upon the balcony rails under the flickering amber of a street lamp.

  ‘Why did you lie about our day to Ruben earlier?’ I asked.

  He averted my eyes, focusing on the man who slept under the paan stall, cradling his daughter in his protective arms, ‘I wanted to make our day sound more exciting than it was. He’s a journalist and travels all over the world in the thick of it. Us, what do we do? Sit in a restaurant and prance around crappy buildings all day.’

  ‘But we’re not journalists, we’re just tourists. I’m sure Ruben wouldn’t have thought any less of us if he knew the truth.’

  ‘Look, does any of this matter? I’ve bagged us a trip to Manali, which you agreed was a good idea. Let’s just get some sleep.’

  It was early, it must have been. Though I was half expecting the usual medley of sounds, there were none. I crept onto the balcony, lit a cigarette and stretched. The sky was in its last phase of sunrise from blood orange to pastel pink. Some way up the street I saw two men talking to an open sewer hole. A slimy arm rose out splashing a handful of wet dirt onto the concrete and then retracted like a snake. The same thing happened four or five times until the owner of the arm emerged, wearing the same thick muck and gasping for air. The teenager bent over, coughed and spat out dark brown gunk as one of his colleagues slapped his back. Sewage clearing – Paharganj style.

  Aiden was in high spirits, thrilled at the prospect of going to Manali with Ruben, so much so that he offered to buy me breakfast. At our regular restaurant, we ordered omelettes and a half set of tea. We were due to leave for Manali at seven the following mornin
g. The bus was to depart near Ruben’s hotel and Aiden thought it would be a good idea to stay there so everything ran smoothly, booking us a night’s stay for one hundred rupees less than our current hotel.

  He finished his tea and went to the wash room. Twenty minutes elapsed and I began to wonder what had happened to him. I couldn't see him anywhere. I approached a passing waiter, ‘Excuse me, have you seen my friend? He looks a bit like me.’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I am thinking this way please.’

  I was ushered over to the hotel lobby where two men were talking on a red couch; one was a middle-aged westerner with glasses, cropped white hair and beard and the other was Aiden, who glanced up as I approached, ‘Oh, hi Sam, this is Don. Don, this is Sam. Don’s from Texas.’

  We exchanged greetings and I sat beside them. Don, I discovered, was on a spiritual journey throughout Asia. He’d left Thailand last week and was heading to Sri Lanka in a few weeks to study Buddhism for six months. His wife had lost a battle with leukaemia a few months earlier and unable to cope with regular life on his own, Don left his home in Austin to travel indefinitely.

  ‘I don't mean to be rude, but we should think about packing if we're to leave the hotel before eleven.’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ replied Aiden. ‘We’ll maybe see you later.’ He reached out his hand to Don, who reciprocated with a firm handshake.

  With our loaded backpacks and guitars in hand, we passed the paan cart and rubble. A little way along we found our new lodgings; not as nice as our previous hotel, but adequate for our needs. The beds were hard and there was no sit-down western toilet, instead, a ceramic hole in the floor shaped like a keyhole; beside it, a blue plastic jug and above, a tap. There was no window or balcony, but thankfully there was a shower and air-conditioning.